


can't steal happiness

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, And general schmoopy bullshit, Deep Dish Nine, Dialogue, Infatuation, Love, M/M, Romance, Tingles, Vignettes, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four Deep Dish Nine Garak/Bashir vignettes, worked around the pattern of The Weepies' "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3asWilihpc">Can't Steal Happiness</a>". If you like it, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/happiness/id524042499">buy it</a>! They're amazing and worth supporting!</p><p>Fair warning: this is schmoopy stuff. No sad, all glad.</p><p>This fic uses Lady Yate-Xel's versions of Elim Garak and Julian Bashir. It is not part of her storyline; it's just me having fun with her characters. </p><p>For Lady Yate-Xel, as all things are, because all of this, <em>all</em> of it, came from our endless spinning DD9 discussions. Thank you, Lady! Without you, nothing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. friday thirteen lights go red green in a coffeeshop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyYateXel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/gifts).



_it’s a mean town, but i don’t care_  
 _try and steal this? can’t steal happiness_

_friday 13 lights go red green in a coffeeshop_  
 _i’m giving you the look while somebody else_  
 _is fingering your wallet in my pocketbook_

* * * 

“Oh, Garak, you know, it’s all just so complicated… I really think you’d better walk me through it step by step.”

Their hands were touching lightly, resting on the polished wood surface of the coffeehouse table, and Garak’s eyes were laughing.

“Julian, I believe you understand the basics quite well. Do you honestly think you need further review?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want me to embarrass myself, would you? I mean, wrong gesture, wrong time, could be rather inappropriate.”

“And you hate being inappropriate.”

“Nothing bothers me more.” He wore his most innocent expression, eyes wide, mouth earnest.

“I see.” Garak sipped his drink; his mouth was hidden behind his mug, but his eyes gave him away. _Don’t think I don’t see you smiling._

“I’ll buy you another latte.”

“You can’t afford another latte.”

“I can if I walk home.”

“As if I would let you walk home. It’s freezing out there.”

And indeed, snowflakes danced outside the window, coloured alternately red and green by the stoplights at the corner. A rather pretty effect, if one could forget the icy wind that picked up at regular intervals, funnelled between the tall buildings of the downtown core. Julian’s sweatshirt and double layer of t-shirts was no match for it at all. Garak, better prepared as always, had a thick wool coat; it hung now by the door, too heavy for indoor use, and Julian had tucked Garak’s wallet into his messenger bag for easy access.

“Well, then, let me see…” Julian rubbed his lips thoughtfully, and Garak’s face, suppressing a grin, was really quite funny. “You won’t let me walk home. You won’t let me buy you a coffee. What _will_ you let me do?”  _Serve, and…_

Garak sighed heavily, put-upon. “Anything you like, apparently; give me your hand…”  _Point, yes!_

Julian slid his hand up to meet Garak’s, palm to palm, fingers straight.

“Let us review. This is called…?”

“yut’amn.” And apparently he hadn’t bollixed up the pronunciation too badly, because Garak nodded, pleased.

“And it means?”

Garak’s skin was cooler than Julian’s, and his fingers were shorter; his hand felt pleasantly solid against Julian’s own. “Okay. This is a greeting or a goodbye. It’s polite and friendly. You do it to your friends and your family. Probably not to your boss or the guy you meet at a party.”

“Correct. It would be seen as overly familiar.”

“Like people who hug everybody.”

Garak shuddered delicately, and Julian grinned.

“And can this be done in any position?”

Julian’s grin tilted. “Don’t know. Haven’t tried it.”

_“Julian.”_

“Sorry, sorry. Um. Usually you hold the hands upright like this, because it’s formal. Can also be done with both hands, right?”

“Yes, a regional variation. It strikes me as a bit effusive, to be honest, but to each their own.” Garak slid the fingers of his free hand around the handle of his mug and raised his mug to his mouth.

“Ah, I see,” and Julian smiled a little, and seized the moment: he slipped his fingers in between Garak’s, and Garak spluttered and choked—

“Oh!” Julian let go, and watched helplessly, hands in air, as Garak cleared his throat and gathered himself. He looked at his hand, bemused. “I’m sorry…”

“Yes, well,” and Garak blinked for a moment, looking a bit rattled. “My goodness, Julian.”

“Sorry, I know that—that’s more like a kiss, right?”

“Hmm, yes, an analogue, very much so.” Babbling just a little; whatever Julian had just done, it had made an impact.

“I didn’t expect it to surprise you that much…”

“Oh, it wasn’t the yut’mer itself, my dear,” and now Garak had composed himself a little, and was smiling one of his little Garak smiles, complete with slight head tilt. “But… perhaps you were correct on the need for a further review of the motions involved.”

Julian raised his brows.

“There are ways to do these things, Julian… Just as a kiss is more than just the pressing of lips. Pressure can vary, and motion, and placement…” Garak had lowered his voice just a little, for all the world as if he was discussing something a bit off-colour in public. _I guess he is!_

“So it’s not just… fingers between versus fingers against?”

“Mmm. How they get there is just as important as their being there, and what they do when they _are_ there.”

“And so… what did I just do?”

Garak blinked. “You just jumped across the table and put your tongue down my throat.” He looked into his mug, then sipped, and it was Julian’s turn to splutter—

“Oh, God, I _am_ sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Garak looked up from beneath his lashes, and Julian’s apology trailed off, because that wasn’t the face of someone who was at all upset or offended, was it…

“Please, my dear.” He smiled slowly, and Julian felt a little warm. “There was nothing _wrong_ with what you did. We may simply have to work on your timing. But for now, let us focus on things that are a little more coffee-appropriate, shall we?”

His cheeks were a bit flushed, he could feel it. “Um, all right.” Was it his imagination, or were his fingers tingling?

“Let us pick up where we left off.” Garak rested his elbow on the table, palm waiting in air, and Julian met it with his own, very formally.

“Any pressure variation things here?”

“Not really. It wouldn’t be appropriate to press too hard, I suppose.”

“A bit like a rough handshake?”

“More or less. But this is hard to get wrong.”

“Good to know. So now… is it yut’pUr that I do, if I’m not _quite_ ready for a kiss?”

“Ah,” and Garak smiled, warming to the subject. He did love to teach; Julian almost felt like he should pull out a pen and take notes. “Not quite. yut’pUr is more appropriate for close friends and family.” He shifted the position of his hand against Julian’s, tilting it, and closed his fingers over Julian’s own, Julian’s thumb between Garak’s own thumb and first finger.

His hand was cool, but his palm was warmer, and for a moment Julian thought he could feel Garak’s pulse beating there between their palms, unexpectedly intimate. He blinked, smiled, feeling a bit tentative after his earlier misstep. “Um… Can I close my hand around yours, too?”

“Oh, yes!” Garak’s smile shifted, amused. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if you move too fast for me.” His tone was teasing, and Julian threw him a look of mild exasperation. _You are such a twit. And nobody knows but me._

He let his own hand close around Garak’s. “This just feels like holding hands.”

Garak shrugged one shoulder. “It is, more or less. There’s some cultural overlap here.”

“Close friends and family, right. Hey—what would I do with Miles?”

Slight confusion on Garak’s face. “In… what context?”

“No, I mean—he’s my friend—do I hold his hand too?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Um.” Julian tried to imagine it; he couldn’t, quite, and judging by Garak’s expression, he’d just made a rather strange face. “Uh, I don’t… There may be _some_ cultural overlap, but if I tried to hold Miles’s hand, he’d think I was coming on to him.”

And now Garak made his own rather strange face, probably seeing the same image that had thrown Julian. “Oh. Oh, dear. No, I assure you, in Cardassia, that would _not_ be the case.” He blinked, and sipped his coffee, and Julian did the same, briefly pensive.

“So men hold hands in Cardassia, even if they aren’t involved.”

“Of course. Women too. In fact, if one was walking in public with a close friend or family member and did _not_ hold their hand, it would be read as a sign of some kind of affront—that either you were angry with them, or you were trying to make them angry with you.”

That was strange. “All right. Good to know, if I ever go to Cardassia.”

“Planning a trip?”

“With my scads of disposable income?”

Garak nodded, _point_ , and changed the subject. “All right. So far we have reviewed yut’amn and yut’pUr.”

“Is yut’mer next?”

Garak’s brows rose. “Would you like it to be?”

Julian smiled, lowered his lashes. “I believe I could use some clarification on the topic, yes.”

“Mmm. Indeed.” Garak straightened his fingers, and Julian followed his lead. Their hands twisted against each other, smoothly, just a little friction between palms as they returned to yut’amn, and when had he started _noticing_ this—

And now Garak smiled, looking straight into his eyes, and tilted his hand just enough to offset their fingers. With the slightest pressure, his fingers and Julian’s were barely interwoven, and Julian found himself blinking and very aware.

“Um. So this is…”

“This is yut’mer. One variation of it, at any rate.”

Garak’s hand was strong and steady. Julian’s fingers were held firmly between his. This was no loose grasp; this was filled with meaning, and it felt…

He didn’t really have a word for how it felt. _Strange_ was in there. _Intense_ also seemed to apply. And _good_ , _good_ was definitely coming to mind, especially as Garak moved his fingers slightly closer together, pressing the fleshy pads of Julian’s fingers between his own—

God, there was that pulse again; he felt it now between their middle fingers, and he stared at their hands as if he could see it beating there. “Can you feel that?”

Garak’s brows lifted. “I can feel quite a few things…”

Why did this make him want to blush, this was _nothing_ , really— “I… I think I can feel your pulse.”

“Ah.” Garak tilted his head, his expression understanding, and he was still smiling at Julian, still that intense gaze. “I can definitely feel yours.”

 _Oh!_ Somehow the converse hadn’t even occurred to Julian. He suddenly felt rather exposed.

Garak saw it in his face. “Do you want to stop?”

“Uh— _no!_ No, not at all!” And it was true, it was _very_ true, this was something fascinatingly new, and he did have rather a weakness for fascinatingly new, _and let’s be honest_ , rather a weakness for Garak, apparently—

His mind flashed to the other night, on his couch, Garak’s knuckles to his collarbone, the brushing of lips—

At the table, Garak’s eyes widened just a little. “Julian, your pulse is racing…”

“Um.” _No doubt._ “Be flattered.”

“Oh, I am.” Despite his words, Garak looked more tentatively pleased than smug. _This must be strange for him…_ Julian couldn’t imagine trying to teach someone how to kiss, someone whose culture didn’t really encompass the idea. What if they didn’t like it? What if they thought it was weird?

He didn’t quite mean to say it, but it spilled from his lips anyway. “You’re… brave, doing this.”

Apparently Garak hadn’t quite expected that, but he seemed to understand; his smile quirked in amusement, and he leaned in. “Not so brave. You make it easy.”

Well, that _was_ flattering, and now he felt a little braver himself. He tightened his own fingers, returning Garak’s slight pressure, and watched as Garak’s mouth opened slightly in response. _So that’s a good thing… maybe that’s like kissing a bit firmly, instead of just brushing lips?_

They should be on his couch right now, where he could do this for _real_ —

But wait, this _was_ real, right? It was certainly real to Garak. And judging by his own mild case of butterflies, it was becoming rather real to him.

And the decided advantage of Cardassian intimacy was that one could do it _in public_.

_This could be fun._

He let his lashes drop, let his mouth stretch into a lazy smile, and watched with delight as Garak’s expression sharpened a bit, curious.

“What comes next?”

Garak’s little smile widened for a moment. “I rather think you know what comes next, Julian.”

 _Oh_ — _are you going to play, too?_ “I mean with this.” He pressed against Garak’s hand, and Garak pressed back, matching his own strength. _Hmmm…_

“Julian, we have barely explored yut’mer. Have you already forgotten what I said earlier?”

“Ah, right, you said variations—pressures and motions and placements—”

“Exactly. So, for example, what we are doing now would be appropriate for… mmm… well, this setting.”

“What… a couple at a coffee shop?”

“Yes. Not too personal for public eyes, but definitely establishing us as a couple, with some level of intimate involvement.” His eyes flicked down for a moment, then back to Julian, and Julian rather thought he was remembering the couch too.

“Hmm. And so what if I…” And Julian bent his fingers just a bit further, slowly, until their knuckles lined up, and Garak sighed, very quietly.

“Ah… That is perhaps not as coffee-shop appropriate.”

“Well, this isn’t a _Cardassian_ coffee shop.”

“Indeed,” and Garak’s smile was just a bit hazy as Julian’s palm pressed against his. Experimentally, Julian moved his fingers against Garak’s, sliding them back up and then in again, and Garak’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment—

_This is powerful stuff!_

“Julian,” and Garak’s voice was quiet, with an undercurrent that was strong and warm, “you are rapidly treading into territory we have not previously explored.”

Very powerful indeed. How much was he ready for, here…

“Garak. The other night…”

Garak’s eyes met his, cool and blue, and yes, he’d definitely been thinking about the couch; Julian could tell by the immediacy of his gaze, the brief squeezing pressure on his fingers. “Yes?”

“It was fun, you know.”

A small smile. Another squeeze. “I’d hoped so.”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

Dark brows lifted. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

“Perhaps…” No obligations, no pressure, he knew that, and that was what apparently was making him half-drunk on a little hand contact, because he found himself saying, “Perhaps we could try it again?”

He hung there for a moment, watching Garak’s face change without changing at all, watching the cool blue gaze shifting to something much warmer, the little half-smile becoming abruptly quite intense, the brows lifting just a bit higher, and Garak breathed, “If you want to…”

Oh, _excellent,_ he was almost surprised to discover _how_ excellent—he smiled, and tilted his head, “Ah, so there _is_ something you’ll let me do for you, after all...?”

Oh, and _that_ got a response, _that_ got a brief grin, a flash of white teeth, and Garak’s other hand came up to stroke Julian’s thumb, up and down, lightly, the slightest caress—

Julian was delighted, delirious at the brief crack in the façade; he found himself leaning in, breathing low, “Don’t get distracted on me… We haven’t finished going over yut’mer, have we?”

A blink, a slightly shaking breath. “Julian, there isn’t any more yut’mer we can do at a coffee-shop table.” A glance from side to side indicated other customers, and how frustratingly in-public the two of them were.

“Well, can’t we just…” And he tugged Garak’s hand, pulling it down and under the table. Garak’s eyes widened; Julian couldn’t help but laugh, just a little.

“Now nobody can see.”

 _“Julian_ —”

Quite deliberately, he folded his fingers completely down, his fingertips resting against the back of Garak’s hand, and he squeezed firmly. Garak actually gasped out loud, his gaze unfocused, and the slightest hint of pink crept into his cheeks—

_I have no idea what I’m doing._

But Garak certainly didn’t seem to mind, and this was _very_ fun—

He whispered, teasing, “Drink your coffee; we’ve got to look normal.”

“This is not _normal_ , Julian…” But Garak did as he was told, picking up his cup with a half-distracted hand and drinking, while his other hand tightened against Julian’s, his fingertips sliding between the tendons there—

 _Ow!_ Was that—had he just pressed in with his nails? Julian blinked at Garak, _what?_

And Garak half-closed his eyes and outright _grinned_ at him, that pink flush still highlighting his cheeks. Julian was suddenly not certain that he was as in-control of this situation as he’d thought, as hidden from view their palms slid together, as the sensitive webs between his fingers sparked and tingled, as Garak slipped a thumb between their hands and scratched its nail gently across his palm—

This was a lesson, he was being chastened for presuming to know more than the teacher, and he didn’t mind at _all_ —

But letting Garak think he had the upper hand would only lead to trouble; it couldn’t be permitted. He knew his eyes were a bit too wide, his breathing a bit too fast; no matter, Garak was flushed and grinning, and so they were probably about even, really. That meant he could tease a little. He narrowed his eyes at Garak, let himself smile, slowly, and whispered, “So, what did you think of that DVD adaptation of Curious Alliances?”

Garak’s expression was really rather funny for a moment, suffused with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Julian, you are _joking.”_

“Not at all! I may as well keep up my end of the conversation, even if you’re not going to bother.” Ouch, another scratch across his palm, leaving the most amazing tingling behind it—

“Perhaps you just haven’t said anything worth responding to in a while.”

Julian frowned at Garak. “Be nice. I’m multitasking. Anyway, _you’re_ the teacher; I’m just learning.”

Garak’s hand slid against his, thumb describing a wide, slow circle against his palm, and he almost wanted to gasp, what _was_ this—

“Learning rather quickly, I would say.”

 _Oh._ Well, that was rather nice; Julian thanked him with a repetition of that slow circle on Garak’s palm, and watched in delight as Garak briefly buried his face in his other hand. “Well, you are a _very good_ teacher, even if you’re sometimes not much use for intellectual discussion of classic Cardassian literature…”

Garak groaned, face still hidden. “Julian, do you _never_ stop talking?”

“The nicest thing about this Cardassian hand business is that it leaves my mouth free.”

And now Garak looked up at him, gaze intense, the strangest half-smile on his face. “Not for long…”

 _Ahhh_ —he drew in a gasping breath, and Garak’s hand was squeezing his own so tightly—

“Do you think—maybe—”

“We should go, yes—”

“Um, all right,” and Julian fumbled for his messenger bag down on the floor beside him, clumsily one-handed—

And reached, and _reached_ , and frowned, and looked, and his stomach plummeted. “Garak, it’s gone!”

That sweet movement against his palm stopped, and Garak pulled his hand away, looked over the table. “Your bag is gone?”

“Oh, my God, it’s—” And he craned over to check that it wasn’t there. No, not under his chair, not kicked away, not under the table—he looked over to Garak’s coat—no, it wasn’t there either— “It’s _gone!”_

He looked up at Garak, aghast. “Garak, your wallet is in there!”

It was like watching someone lose their footing unexpectedly, stepping on to what they’d thought would be solid and was instead empty air. The hint of pink in Garak’s cheeks faded, and what little colour he normally had vanished too; he was almost deathly pale, his mouth dropping open, his eyes flicking back and forth, for a moment almost—

_Terrified?_

And then suddenly his eyes widened, his expression briefly incredulous, then amused, and then he was laughing, almost giggling; still quiet, still Garak, but laughing, not able to stop. He pressed a hand against his mouth to muffle himself, but Julian could still see the laughter in his eyes.

_What…? What just happened there?_

“Garak…” He’d almost forgotten about his bag now. “Garak, are you all right?”

“Mmm.” Garak held up a hand, requesting patience, as he tried to compose himself; he failed, and squeezed his eyes shut as more laughter bubbled out of him.

This was really very strange, and now beginning to be rather irritating. “I don’t see what’s funny about this! I’ve lost my bag and you’ve lost your wallet!”

Garak was finally getting control of himself. He wiped his eyes with his hand, and smiled a bit tearily at Julian. “Nothing to worry about, my dear.”

Julian was incredulous. “Are you joking? My money—my cards—and your things too—Garak, somebody’s got our stuff!”

“And what are they going to do with it? How much money did you have in your bag?”

“Um,” he thought for a moment. “About ten dollars. _Damn_ it, that was lunch and bus fare—” He wanted to swear, but couldn’t quite squeeze the words out with Garak sitting there. He settled for kicking his chair leg instead.

Garak waved it away. “Ten dollars? I will make you a lunch, if you like. Five lunches. Ten dollars is nothing, Julian…”

“Speak for _yourself_ —how much did _you_ lose?”

“Twenty dollars.”

Julian frowned. “That’s it? What about your credit card—or your chequebook?”

“I don’t have either.” Garak shrugged, smiled.

“What about your ID? Don’t you care about losing that? Somebody could steal your identity!”

And Garak giggled again, actually giggled, and pressed his lips together to stop himself. “Oh, Julian, nobody wants my identity.”

This was a stupid conversation, and even if Garak wasn’t upset, Julian was damned well going to be. “It is going to take _forever_ for me to replace all of my ID—and how are we even going to pay for—oh, my God,” and he felt himself paling a little, “how are we going to pay for coffee? How do we pay for the cab ride home?”

Garak patted his hand, and Julian almost wanted to snarl at him. “Don’t worry, Julian. I have money.”

“What? _How?”_

“I always carry extra.”

“Why?”

“Because,” and Garak gestured as if to encompass their current situation. “It only has to happen once for one to learn not to let it happen again.”

“You’ve been robbed before?”

“In a manner of speaking.” As he spoke, Garak unzipped a little pocket in the leg of his trousers and pulled out a few bills. “This should cover things for tonight.”

“Oh.” Well, that was one minor terror dealt with. He nodded thanks. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do, considering how unsympathetic I’ve been.”

That pulled a little smile out of Julian, and Garak tilted his head, pleased to see it. “There we are. That looks more like Julian Bashir.”

He had been venting a bit, hadn’t he—God, well, wasn’t he _entitled?_ “It’s just so _frustrating.”_

“I understand. I’ve been through it before. I promise you, it’s much easier to replace one’s ID than you’d think.”

“I know. Sorry. Look, let’s just… settle up and get out of here, all right?”

They pushed back from the table and stood, and as Garak went to the front counter to pay, Julian leaned on the table and sighed to himself. What a disappointing end to what had been shaping up to be a really _excellent_ evening. It was still early—barely eight-thirty—but all the tingly pleasure he’d been so enjoying earlier seemed to have vanished along with his bag. Now he was irritable and frustrated and just a bit over-caffeinated, and the combination was uncomfortable. He itched in his skin. _I liked that messenger bag…_

When Garak came back over, Julian was already at the door, ready to go. As they stepped through the doorway, the cold air hit his face, and the wind pulled at his hair, at his sweatshirt. Next to him, Garak shivered, and frowned at the night.

Julian waved at a cab; as they watched it pull towards them, he could feel Garak next to him, wondering how to ask. God. He just… he just wasn’t feeling very couch anymore.

“You know, I think I’ll probably just head back to my place, if that’s all right with you. I don’t think I’m much fun to be around right now.” And that was true; still, part of him was quietly hoping Garak would say, _nonsense, Julian, I want to spend time with you no matter what—_

“Ah?” Garak’s voice was calm, as always, but Julian thought he picked up the faintest hint of disappointment. “Very well, Julian.”  _Oh. I guess he doesn’t._

“What will you do?”

“Oh,” and Garak pondered, “I imagine I’ll catch up on some sewing… Perhaps make a pot of tea.”

“Ah.” Weirdly, he was now even more disappointed. _This is really stupid, Julian._

They climbed into the back of the cab and rode in silence, each looking out their respective windows as the city rolled by.

Julian could hear Garak breathing, quietly; could hear him moving as he shifted position on the back seat, and his mood had gone from irritable to sulky, because apparently he was five years _old—_

_Julian, is this really how you want this night to end?_

No, not really.

_So do something about it._

He breathed, deliberately, and tucked his ego into his back pocket, and turned to face Garak, “Garak, do you think—”

And Garak had just turned, himself, and was looking at Julian, “Julian, would you—”

They stopped, and looked at each other, and laughed.

“Me first, all right?”

Garak nodded, smiling.

“Sorry. I’m an ass. Don’t let me spoil the evening, please?”

Garak’s smile widened, eyes glinting in the dim light of the cab. “Julian, any evening spent in your company is by definition better than one spent alone, no matter what your mood.”

He blinked at that, pleased. “Flatterer.”

“One of the best.”

“Come over, all right? If you’ve watched Curious Alliances, we could watch the next one—or we could watch it _together_ , and we could talk about it—”

“That sounds excellent. I’ll run down to my apartment and pick up some snacks—perhaps some hot chocolate?”

“That sounds great! And I’ll get out that quilt for you so you can wrap up—”

They planned, and laughed, and somehow, Julian found Garak’s hand against his once again, resting on the cab seat, the slightest hint of yut’mer sending little tingles up his arm every time the cab hit a bump in the road, and Garak was right, wasn’t he? Ten dollars, and some ID, and a messenger bag with a torn strap, and none of it mattered at all right now, and if it didn’t matter right now, when did it ever?

He laughed to himself, and squeezed Garak’s fingers gently between his own; he felt the sweet pressure of his response.

He felt a bit sorry for the thief, all things considered.


	2. got a charger, no cellphone, i can't call out

_got a charger, no cell phone, i can’t call out_   
_unless it’s to cry your name out the open window_   
_to a sky that looks right back and says it’s never seen rain_   
_sometimes you gotta start clean_   
_you gotta begin, not begin again_

* * *

Little bag of convenience-store essentials in hand, he hopped down from the curb and walked quickly across Denorios Avenue, his glance flicking back and forth for unexpected cars. He was only half paying attention, really. His mind was on his work.

 _Three dresses, three bridesmaids, three sizes._ All to be done in the same style, _really,_ one would think these young women would figure out that one style of dress was unlikely to flatter all three of their friends, especially when they ranged in size from 6 to 16. _Teal satin, dear me,_ it would highlight every unwanted bulge; ah, well, he’d worked miracles before, surely he could do so again—he stepped up on the far side of the street and angled towards the apartments, mentally already halfway into the first seam—

“Garak!”

Really, it was quite funny how rapidly all sartorial thoughts fled when he heard that voice.

He looked up, and here was Julian, leaning out of his apartment window, waving at him. Two floors up, and that smile, flashing white and broad, warmed him as if the young man was right next to him; _ah…_

He smiled back, waving. “Hello, Julian!”

Julian’s smile broadened into a grin, quite blinding, really, and he shouted down, “I’m glad I caught you—are you busy?”

He’d rather planned to be, yes, but— “I can spare a moment. Why?”

“I need to ask you a favour.”

Hmm. “Yes?”

“Do you have a cellphone charger? Mine isn’t working!” As if to cite his source, Julian thrust one long arm out the window, waving a coiled mass of wire. “My phone’s about to die!”

He let his smile twist, mildly incredulous. “Dear me, what a dilemma. Perhaps you should step out and pick up another one.”

“It was _fine_ this morning, I just don’t—I don’t want to go out and buy one and then it works again tomorrow, you know? And anyway,” and Julian cast a glance back into his apartment, “I’m rather in the middle of an assignment right now. I don’t want to lose my flow.”

Ah. Well, that held together. But really, it was such fun to poke holes—

“Julian, I don’t have the same cellphone as you do. Why would you think I’d have a cellphone charger for your phone?”

Julian frowned. “I know you’ve got some kind of adapter thing, I’ve seen it. I think it would fit my phone too. Come on, Garak, please?”

He sighed, and shook his head admonishingly. “Perhaps it would be good for you to spend a little time without your cell phone. Can’t you survive one night without it?”

Now Julian’s face took on rather a different expression, the _Garak is playing with me_ expression: thoroughly exasperated, and it was marvellous, really. “I need my reference apps, Garak! I’ve got Medscape on there and QX-Calc and my 5-Minute-Clinical-Consult—how’m I supposed to get any _work_ done?”

“Hmm…” He crossed his arms in thought, tapped one foot, and Julian rolled his eyes. _Excellent._ Ah, here was the last thing, here was something good—

He let his brows rise as if he’d just had a sudden brilliant thought. “Doesn’t Mr. O’Brien have the same model of cellphone as you do? I’m quite certain his cellphone charger is immaculately maintained. Why don’t you ask him if you can use his?”

Julian’s mouth opened—closed—opened again, and he smiled down at Garak, gaze steady. “Because I don’t want to use his. I want to use yours. All right?”

 _Ah,_ and that was lovely, and his heart fluttered within him, giddy and glad.

He blinked up at Julian, smiling slowly. “Well, that is rather a different situation, isn’t it. By all means, then, come downstairs; I’ll meet you there.”

“Thanks, Garak, I owe you one—” Julian grinned again, and vanished into his apartment, window sliding shut with a bang.

Well, his evening had just gotten slightly more interesting, hadn’t it—but he did still have rather a lot of sewing to do…

_I wonder how this is going to work?_

As he walked down the hall to his apartment, he heard the clatter of footsteps in the stairwell, a long-legged cadence, and he smiled to himself.

Julian hove into view, lugging his messenger bag, which was—goodness—absolutely _crammed_ with binders and books; it looked ready to split at the seams.

“Julian, I thought you just needed to use my charger.”

Julian blinked, all innocence. “Oh, I do—but I still need to use my phone while it’s charging, right? Can’t get my work done otherwise—”

“You could take it with you, you know.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” another wide-eyed blink, “what if I lost it, or spilled something on it, or something? Better just to keep it here, right? Then nobody needs to worry—”

 _You are really too charming for your own good, Julian Bashir._ “Of course, of course…” He raised a hand to stem the tide of words. “By all means, then; in you go.” He unlocked his door and swung it wide, gesturing welcome with one arm.

A sly smile, and Julian slipped in ahead of him, kicking his shoes off at the door— _well-trained young man_ —and aiming for the couch. He dropped onto it with a happy sigh, and Garak wanted to grin.

“Shall I find that charger for you?”

“Hm? Oh, _yes_ , by all means, thank you, Garak,” and Julian had already cracked open a book and was beginning to do intricate things with a highlighter.

He looked so sweet there, curled up on himself, book in his lap; Garak found himself reluctant to stop looking. It wouldn’t do to be _too_ affectionate, though. Dignity first in all things. Though, honestly, part of him rather wanted to shout for joy. Ah, simple pleasures!

After his groceries were tucked away, the charging adapter in question was located and put into play, and yes, it had a cable that fit Julian’s phone perfectly. The little battery symbol flashed a tiny lightning bolt, and Julian smiled, relieved.

“Thanks again, Garak. I really appreciate it.”

“Not at all, my dear. It’s a pleasure to have you here.” Although he couldn’t really be the host he’d like to be, tonight; Julian or no Julian, he had so much to do—

“Don’t let me keep you from anything, Garak.” Julian was looking up at him. “I can just sit here and work—I can leave as soon as my phone’s charged; you’ll never be the wiser.”

 _Perceptive. Or perhaps I’m just clearly distracted._ Either way, it was the right thing to say. “Thank you, Julian. Please help yourself to anything you’d like to eat. I’m just going to eat on the run tonight, I think.”

“All right.” Another smile, and back to the book, and now it was Garak’s turn to park himself in one location and wrack his brains for answers. _Lucky me. Perhaps he’d like to trade._

His preliminary sketches sat on his sewing table, laughing up at him. He could see at a glance that the ideas he’d had would not work at all for the third bridesmaid. Thank God they’d all made it in for a fitting; he’d be thrown to the wolves, otherwise. No, he was going to have to start completely clean, as if he’d never begun in the first place. He allowed himself a sigh, and the crumple-and-toss of the useless sketches was perhaps slightly more vehement than it needed to be.

_Now, let me see…_

He started over, biting his lip, pencil flickering; here was a shape, here was a sash—no. No sash. Instead, here was a belt of ruching, _yes,_ that would work, and here was a subtle flare of hip, and here was a hem—

He lost himself in creation; the world slipped away, and he was a hand and eyes and a brain, flickering, seeing only the concept, the flow of fabric, the texture beneath the fingers, and his desk lamp illuminated beauty—

And the pattern took shape, he knew what he wanted, he drew it out from a template and then twitched it, twisted it, wider here, narrowed there to highlight, _no,_ not like that, more like this, _yes—_

To the fabric, tight on its bolt; he measured it out and sliced away what he’d need, and took a moment to lift it, heavy in his hands, sensually delightful—

Cutting cleanly, he never had to think about this, his fingers knew what to do, how to move, and he was humming to himself, snatches of song—

Now to his machine, and he burrowed in, eyes narrowed—

 _Wait_ —where were they—oh, _here_ they were, and on they went, and back to it, the finest stitches, the silk thread, strong but with so little give, _careful_ —one had to plan, to account for every movement of the legs, the hips, the torso, the dress had to _dance_ —

The machine hummed, and he hummed with it, teeth clenched on his lower lip, breathing lightly, _carefully,_ coaxing out the dream—

“Garak?”

 _Gah!_ The machine gave a brief protesting whine as his foot slammed down on the pedal, and he watched a line of stitches trace its way across the fabric in a direction he’d never intended.

For _pity’s_ sake, he’d completely forgotten Julian was even _here_ —he turned, and his face must have been quite eloquent, because Julian’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline.

“Sorry, sorry—um, I just, I made myself a sandwich, and I wasn’t sure, um, if you’d—look, I’ve made you one too—”

And here was a sandwich, cut into triangles and proffered on a plate. He blinked.

Julian was visibly embarrassed, holding the sandwich out with one long arm and clearly feeling as he’d done exactly the wrong thing. _Behave, Elim._

“My apologies, Julian. I was simply rather caught up in my work.” He took the plate and smiled his thanks, and Julian smiled back; Garak could almost see his mental sigh of relief.

“Sorry, normally I wouldn’t just rummage through your kitchen, but you _did_ say…”

“By all means, my dear.” He set the plate gently on his cutting table. What was this, anyway? _Well, it’s all my food, so let’s deduce._ Hmm, looked like… sliced kemprel, and pickles, and sharp cheese, stacked high between two slices of soft grain-bread. Not his usual style of cookery at all, but it looked quite good, actually.

He raised his brows. “Thank you! It looks delicious.” _And how funny, to have you cook for me!_

And now Julian straightened his back, almost proud; it was quite sweet, really. “I just thought you could probably use something. It is going on eight, after all.”

What? Eight? Really? They’d gotten here at—couldn’t have been much past six—eight, _really?_

He pushed back from his machine, hands spread wide. “Julian, I apologize, I have been a _terrible_ host!”

“Hardly. I’m the one imposing on you, after all.” Julian tilted his head, smiling. “Sucking your outlets dry—really, the least I can do is make you something to eat in return.”

“Hmm.” Well, that was fair. But two hours… _Wait, two hours?_ “Julian… is your phone not charged yet?”

“Oh!” Those eyes went wide again, and Garak wanted to laugh. “Do you know, I completely forgot to check…”

“You could have a look now, you know.” He was all helpful innocence, smiling sweetly.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” and Julian’s face was briefly pensive, “you know, I really want to make sure it’s got a _good_ charge, I don’t want it to tap out on me halfway through class tomorrow.”

“Ah. I see.” _At least, I hope I do._

“Please—just keep working, Garak. I’m quite enjoying it, to be honest.”

 _What?_ He’d had the door nearly shut; Julian couldn’t have seen him. “You’re enjoying me working? How so?”

“Well,” and Julian leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, “I’m learning rather a lot of Kardasi.”

More blinking. “Do tell.”

“I mean, you’ll have to help me translate, but I’m fairly certain I understood the _basic_ gist of ‘ter e’Gir taskarvul s’hUnj’—”

_“Julian!”_

And the young man was laughing at him, delighted. “Hey, I’m not the one who said it!”

Oh, _embarrassing!_ But the damned hemline had been giving him fits, it was true— _do I really curse when I work?_ “My dear, I _do_ apologize—”

“You are doing rather a _lot_ of that tonight, Garak; am I throwing you off?” His tone was teasing, his eyes were dancing, and really, Garak felt rather rocked back on his feet.

“Hardly, my dear! I’m simply…” Simply what?

Comfortable, that was what, he’d gotten comfortable, as if he were alone in his own private space. And then here was Julian, and he wasn’t at all used to being _this_ comfortable around Julian. It felt… strange. _I’m out of practice._

Perhaps this was something worth practicing...

_No better time to start than now._

He tilted his head, and smiled up at Julian. “I’m simply delighted to have you here, my dear; I want to make sure that you’re at ease.”

Julian’s eyes softened, charmingly, and his smile twitched into a brief grin. “Very much so, Garak; thanks.”

“Ah.” That was good, then.

And now, come to think of it, he _was_ rather hungry, and Julian seemed to be taking a bit of a study break—

“Would you mind much if I joined you for a few minutes, while I…?” He gestured towards the sandwich, and Julian’s face lit up quite enchantingly, _yes!_

“That’d be great! I’m just doing flash cards, anyway—I can take a break—”

“Lovely!” He stood, brushing loose threads from his pants.

Julian was still looking at him, smiling in the oddest way.

“Is there something…?”

“Um. Just wondering if you were going to leave those on.”

 _Oh!_ His reading glasses—his hand moved swiftly to his face— _oh, my goodness, I must look like an old man_ —God, and now he really rather _did_ want to drop a few words of Kardasi into the air—

But Julian was laughing at him _again,_ and now he leaned in, brows raised. “You know, they’re really rather sweet. You should wear them more often.”

Julian’s hand rose, and his long fingers traced their way along the arm of Garak’s glasses, back to the earpiece, trailing lightly over his ear—

His brief, sharp intake of breath made Julian smile. Really, was there nothing he could hide from the man?

 _Well, Elim, you’ve brought him into your home and left him there unobserved, you’ve given him easy access to your food, and you wouldn’t complain at all if he found his way into your bed. Exactly what_ are _you trying to hide?_

He sighed, and Julian grinned.

“I only need them for close-up work, you know.” A feeble protestation, accomplishing very little.

“Of course, of course,” and that smile, so warm, like a ray of sunshine in his dim apartment; really, how had he gotten along without it? “Come on, let’s eat. We’ve both got a lot left to do tonight.”

They ate, and laughed, and Julian stretched his long legs out and rested his feet on Garak’s lap, his smile so bright, and when Garak tucked himself back into his sewing room, he was replete in more ways than one.

In between seams, when his machine was quiet, he listened for the rustling of paper, the squeak of the highlighter, and he smiled to himself.

“Charged yet?”

“Not yet—”


	3. and as we fly around the sun we know we're not the only ones

_and as we fly around the sun, we know we’re not the only ones_  
 _love for the lonely – it’s been a long time comin’_  
 _can you hear that hopeful heart?_

* * *

“Julian Bashir, _where is your shirt?”_

He looked down at himself. “Oh, I just threw it in with everything else. I’m just hanging out here, anyway—don’t exactly need to dress to impress, do I?”

Clearly, Garak didn’t agree; he was averting his eyes, and—unbelievably—the faintest pink flush was creeping along his cheeks. _Did I… embarrass him? I didn’t think that was possible!_

“Sorry, Garak,” and Julian frowned, “is this a Cardassian thing I don’t know about? I—in the Federation, men can go shirtless, more or less, depending on context—”

“No, no.” One pale hand came up, palm rigid. “Never mind, I’ll just—”

Off he went to the bedroom, leaving Julian puzzled behind him and feeling suddenly rather exposed. What was wrong with being shirtless? One had to do laundry, right? He wasn’t naked, right? It was hot in here—didn’t Garak ever go shirtless?

He thought of Garak’s typical perfect presentation. _Probably not._ Wouldn’t want to give up half of one’s artistic canvas, after all.

“Here,” and Garak approached, a fall of something silky and red in his arms. “Wear this.”

 _A dress?_ “Garak, I… what _is_ that?”

Garak still wasn’t looking at him, but Julian could see the exasperation on his face. “It’s my robe. Please put it on.”

Garak’s robe? His actual night-time robe? _Is that better or worse than a dress?_

“Uh…”

Now the robe was thrust at him, one-handed, and Julian caught it with uncertain hands. It was… soft. Very soft. He had never in his life worn anything remotely like it. _I don’t know that I’m particularly anxious to start._

He tried to laugh it off. “Garak, I’m not sure this is me…”

A slightly strained smile flickered across Garak’s face. “I apologize for the lack of sartorial selection, but really, Julian…” He trailed off, waving one hand as if trying to encompass something he couldn’t quite say.

Suddenly it hit him. _Oh. Oh—_

He shrugged into the robe, sliding his arms into the sleeves, and yes, it was just as indulgent and smooth as it had felt. He cinched it around his waist with the belt. The sleeves were a bit too short, and his wrists stuck out, and he probably looked like an idiot, and that was exactly right, because he felt like one too.

“I’m sorry, Garak. Better?”

Garak looked over at him—and looked again, and his face twitched; one hand rose to his mouth.

“That’s… very fetching.” His eyes were dancing.

Yes, indeed, much better. Julian grinned. “Goes rather nicely with my jeans, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, exactly what I was going to say,” and now Garak dropped his hand, letting Julian see his smile. _Ha. Victory, and situation salvaged._

But it still wouldn’t hurt to change the subject, would it. “Is it all right if I stay ‘til the laundry’s done? It might take a few hours—got to run two loads.”

Garak nodded. “That’s fine. I hope you don’t mind if I’m busy for the next little while; I’m just about to make dinner.” He looked to the kitchen, looked back.

“Oh, of course—don’t mind me, I’ve got a book, I’ll be fine.”

The mention of a book piqued Garak’s interest, as per usual. “Ah! May I ask…?”

“It’s called Stars Above Him—it’s a good one—hold on, I’ll show you—” He moved to his messenger bag, resting against the couch, and crouched down to rummage through it. Garak knelt down next to him, head tilted inquisitively.

“Here!” He tugged the book from the bag, and handed it to Garak, who looked at it as if he’d just been handed a dirty sock.

“It has a spaceship on it.”

“Um… yes, yes, it does. Anyway, it’s really very good—it’s about a couple who adventure together, and they—”

Garak smiled politely and handed the book back to Julian. “I’m sure it’s a gripping read.” He braced himself and stood up, slowly. “I should really be starting dinner, though. Especially if I’m going to be cooking for two…?”

“Uh… sure, Garak, that sounds excellent—thanks!”

“My pleasure, my dear,” and Garak headed off to the kitchen, humming quietly to himself, leaving Julian squatting by the couch, slightly bemused.

_What just happened there?_

_Oh, well._ He shrugged to himself. Garak being a bit tricky to read was Garak breathing, and meanwhile here was a book, and here was a comfortable couch, and he had a little bit of _time_ , the most precious luxury of all.

Delighting in the prospect of relaxation, he let himself drop on to the couch with a _whump._

“By all means, make yourself comfortable.” Garak’s voice drifted from the kitchen, his tone quite dry.

He smiled to himself and called back, “I rather think I will, thank you!”

Garak’s apartment was dimly lit, as always, but the reading light by the couch was bright, and even if he wasn’t directly under it, he could still sort of angle himself, kind of like _this_ , so that he was comfortable _and_ so he could read—he fidgeted, feet pressed up against the armrest for leverage, as he wriggled—

 _Ah,_ that was it, and he sighed happily as he attained reading nirvana. _Now, where was I…_

Alien worlds spun before him; spaceships flashed across the sky, and intrepid adventurers sought out new life and new civilizations, and Julian Bashir lay back, entranced, letting the fantasy pull him in; in the background, he heard quiet singing, and the myriad comforting noises that went with food being made, and time passed—

Soft footsteps, and a shadow fell over his book; he blinked and looked up. Garak was looking down at him, smiling very slightly.

“I _am_ sorry to interrupt your adventures, but dinner is ready, if you’d care to join me…”

There was a softly spicy scent floating through the apartment, weaving its way from the kitchen. He inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Smells amazing, Garak. Thanks again.”

Garak bowed slightly, one arm gesturing towards the kitchen. “Shall we?”

Julian grinned and put down his book. “Let me just turn over the laundry, all right?”

His quick trip to the laundry room accomplished, he dropped into one of the two chairs at the little kitchen table, already laden with full place settings—because Garak—and also an intriguing casserole dish that vented delicious wisps of steam and enticing scents.

Garak sat himself in the other chair and lifted the lid from the dish— _ahh,_ and the spicy scent intensified, sweet and promising. Julian’s mouth watered. _I didn’t realize I was this hungry!_

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you after you eat it.” Carefully, Garak ladled a large helping of mystery casserole on to Julian’s plate. He looked at it, suddenly wary.

“Is there something I won’t like in it?”

Garak paused, ladle in hand, and looked at him with mild exasperation. “Now, how would I know? I don’t know if you’ll like it or not until you try it and tell me so.”

“I’m not going to eat anything else with that root in it.” He remembered vividly the roasted dukaf, how good it had smelled, how _bad it had tasted—_

“I promise it doesn’t have any dukaf in it at all. It has never even been in the same room as a dukaf.” Garak’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want some or not?”

 _I want to eat the smell…_ “I’ll try it.”

“How very kind of you.” Garak served himself a ladleful of casserole, about half the size of Julian’s portion, and placed the lid back atop the dish. He took a bite and smiled to himself, the picture of contentment.

 _Eesh._ He didn’t want to offend, he really didn’t—

_So don’t. Just eat._

He did _not_ close his eyes and did _not_ plug his nose as he scooped up a forkful and put it in his mouth—

_Oh!_

Spice, expanding— _something sweet?_ —but also hot, not painful, but warming; his tongue and cheeks tingled, and there was a taste of celery and fennel and something almost like tomato, almost, not quite, and also meat that he didn’t recognize, but did that really matter when it melted on your tongue?

“Gar—” Wait, mouth full, chew and swallow and try it again, “Garak, this is _delicious!”_

Garak’s face was as smug as his tone was dry. “Dear me, Julian. And here I thought you didn’t care for ‘overcomplicated Cardassian cooking.’”

His mouth was full again, and he didn’t bother answering. Wonderful, excellent, and it beat the absolute hell out of ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches—

Garak tucked into his own meal, still smiling rather smugly, eating more slowly and keeping one eye on Julian, who really couldn’t be bothered with niceties right now.

He devoured his plateful before Garak had finished more than a third of his own, and hovered a hand over the casserole dish, brows up, _more?_

“Julian, I have never seen anyone eat as quickly as you do. It can’t be good for you.”

“I’ve survived so far. Can I…?”

“Oh, by all means, my dear.” Garak watched with horrified fascination as he ladled himself out an even larger portion and dug in.

Garak’s little comment made him a bit self-conscious, but even pacing himself, he still finished his second helping before Garak had completely finished his first. He pushed his plate away, and leaned back in his chair with a pleased sigh, stomach full and world at peace. Lazily, he let his eyes drift shut.

“Are you going to fall asleep at the table?” Amusement wove through Garak’s voice, rich and warm.

“Your own fault if I do; I’m full.”

 _“My_ fault? Eating two platefuls of corem-e’kot was entirely your own idea.”

“Well, you could’ve made dukaf again, and then you’d have my full attention now, because I wouldn’t have eaten any.”

He could almost hear the eye-roll. “Believe me, dukaf will never again cross your plate. The pathos is simply too much to bear.”

He ignored that as it deserved, and let his arms hang down at his sides, mind drifting happily.

The sounds of Garak’s apartment floated through his awareness, only half acknowledged: the little clinks of Garak finishing his meal, the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the far-off repeated cadence of the washer and dryer in the laundry room, all combining to make a soothing pattern, so relaxing…

He heard Garak chuckling, and smiled in response. “What’s so funny?”

“You are, my dear. You really are about to drop off, aren’t you.”

“Mmm… I’m happy and full, so… Sleep falls somewhere on Maslow’s hierarchy, doesn’t it?”

“Not ready to self-actualize at the moment?”

“Perhaps not _right_ now…”

Another soft laugh, and life was really very good; he was comfortable and warm and full, and his mind wandered. _How many other people out there are as happy as I am right now?_

He heard a quiet _tink_ , and his eyes opened to see Garak placing his fork on his plate next to his knife. The older man stood, gracefully gathering up his dirty dishes. He leaned over, an arm extended for Julian’s as well.

“Oh, no.” Julian stretched, smiling. “I’ll do the dishes. Least I can do, right?”

That got him a pleased nod of Garak’s dark head. “Very well. I will dry.”

Soon Julian was up to his arms in soap suds, red robe rolled to his elbows, and there was rather a plethora of pots and pans to deal with, and utensils he didn’t quite recognize. At home he never had to wash more than one dish at a time. He found himself weirdly grateful that he’d occasionally been pressed into the role of dishwasher at Deep Dish Nine. Next to him, Garak dried the freshly rinsed dishes, and stacked everything neatly to be put away.

It was weirdly comfortable, working next to Garak, feeling his warm presence there, and Julian found a hum spilling out of him, a little segment of melody that seemed to want to be sung. He felt Garak’s eyes on him, and was quietly thrilled when Garak picked up the next bit of the tune. He didn’t want to look, to meet Garak’s gaze; it felt a bit as if it would break the spell. _Just go with it, Julian, it feels good—_

They finished the dishes in oddly synchronous musicality, voices loosely blending, and when Julian reached the end of the song, Garak sang a little coda. _God, this is weird!_ And yet he was smiling.

“Garak, what were we just singing?”

Garak was smiling back, apparently just as pleased with the situation as Julian was. “I believe it was the theme to—”

 _“Shadows Over Kardasi’or,_ yes, that’s _it,”_ and Julian grinned as Garak nodded. “God, I had that stuck in my head for a week.”

Garak’s expression was rueful. “As did I, I’m afraid. That DVD ought to have come with some kind of warning.”

“It was good, though, wasn’t it? They did a really good job at bringing through all the plots; I mean, that book was, what, four hundred pages?”

“Something like that, and yes, I was quite impressed at how thorough the film-makers were at capturing it. We really should watch the director’s commentary one of these days.”

“And risk that theme again? You’ll have to bribe me.” Oh, that sounded a bit flirtatious—oh, well, the same dictum applied, _feels good, Julian, go with it!_

“I’m certain I could come up with _something_ that would make you smile, my dear.” And there was Garak, flirting back, quick as thought. His eyes were warm and pleased, and Julian found himself warming just a bit in response, a glow inside him—

 _Um_ —but he wasn’t sure, and so instead he glanced around the kitchen, tidied and put to rights. “Now what?”

Garak graciously let the topic slip, and pursed his lips. “Well, how long until your laundry is done?”

“Mmm, probably at least another hour.”

“Would you like to continue your book? I confess, I’m rather in the middle of one myself, and I wouldn’t mind picking up where I left off.”

A little voice in Julian’s head sang in delight. “Would that be all right?”

“It would be ideal, my dear.” Garak grinned at him for a moment, and Julian grinned back, _God, does it get better than this?_

As they settled themselves on the couch, Julian caught Garak sliding another mildly censorious glance over the spaceship-bearing cover of his own book, before cracking open something much more sedate.

 _What is going on in there?_ “Garak, are you not much for spaceships?”

Garak looked up, blinking. “What makes you say that?”

“That’s twice now you’ve given my book the side-eye.”

“The what?”

“You know very well what. What’s wrong with spaceships?”

“Oh, Julian…” Garak frowned a little as he thought. “I simply don’t care much for science fiction, that’s all.”

“Read all of it, have you?”

A dry look. “I don’t need to.”

“That’s unusually closed-minded of you.”

That stung, he could see it. “Hardly, my dear. I admit, I do not see the value in literature as pure escapism. That doesn’t make me closed-minded.”

“Judging all of science fiction as ‘pure escapism’ does, though.”

And now Garak turned to him, shifting his position on the couch. He rested his book on his lap, hands grasping gently at air. “Well, what would you describe it as, Julian? Aliens and spaceships and laser guns—it’s hardly grounded in reality.”

Julian was so appalled that he almost didn’t know what to say. _Got to try, though—_

“Garak, that completely misses the point!”

“Ah? Then do enlighten me.” There was just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and Julian’s brow furrowed.

“Look, am I just wasting my breath if I do? I mean, will you actually consider what I say?”

A blink of blue eyes. “My dear, I always consider everything you say.”

 _Uh…_ That felt… unexpectedly intimate, and perhaps a little more honest than he typically expected from Garak. _Leave it._ “All right. The setting is peripheral. The point is the people.”

“Go on.”

“Well, lasers and alien planets and such, yes, that’s all very exciting, but—” He raised a finger. “The really interesting thing is how people react to those things. What is life like on a planet where there is no hunger? What is life like in a galaxy at war? What if one could live forever? It’s all about how people see it, do you understand? And then from there, you can extrapolate, so the characters learn lessons about how one _should_ live—just like any other book, really, if it’s well written.”

Garak frowned. “Very well. But if it’s all about people, why not set the novel here on Earth? There are enough problems here without borrowing more from some imagined future. At this very moment, people are starving in the Romulan Empire. Bajoran terrorists are still attacking Cardassian civilians along the demilitarized border. Even within the Federation, there are horrors—look at the epidemic in Andor, or that hurricane in Betazed—”

“Well, no one is saying those problems aren’t important, Garak. But sometimes it’s valuable to look at things from a more distant perspective, don’t you think? Just because we have problems now doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look ahead, to when things might be different, might be better—”

“Or worse.”

Julian raised his hands, conceding that point. “Or worse, yes—but still, there’s value in getting out of the _now,_ in imagining how people might live and work on different planets, or on space ships… Without our current social frameworks, right? So it’s less limiting. And it’s entertaining, too, _yes_ , but you can’t tell me Petals of the K’selses was meant entirely as serious social deconstruction, can you? There was _definitely_ some entertainment value in that one.”

He raised his brows, and Garak nodded, accepting that.

He continued. “So it’s not fair to condemn science fiction as pure escapism. If you want to do that, you have to also take every other book that tells an entertaining story and call it escapist too. Was Shadows Over Kardasi’or escapism?”

Garak pursed his lips. “Perhaps at the time it was written.”

“But now it’s a classic, right? So what makes it any different than Stars Above Him?” He pointed at his much-maligned book, frowning. “Who says I’m not just a hundred years ahead of my time?”

Now a sigh, and Garak briefly rubbed his chin. “Seeing as neither of us will be around in one hundred years, I really cannot argue that point.”

Julian smiled. “You never know. In Stars Above Him everybody lives for four hundred years, at least.”

“That sounds dull.”

 _What?_ “Dull? To live four hundred years?”

“Wouldn’t one run out of things to do?”

He couldn’t imagine that. “Oh, no, I don’t think so—there’s _so much_ to do! Lots of worlds to visit—so many people to meet—and interstellar flight is easy, so the protagonists travel from world to world, unravelling a sinister plot—”

“Must everything you read involve a sinister plot?”

He grinned. “I do rather prefer it, yes, and judging by what you’ve lent me so far, you like it too. But _anyway,_ my original point—”

“Before you started yammering on about lifespan?”

“Shh. My _original_ point was that it’s the _people_ the book is about that make it interesting, and you’d like these two, you really would. They’re a married couple, been on all kinds of adventures together—espionage, assassination, you name it—and they’re written very well. They feel real. They live, and they learn, and they hurt like real people—bad things happen to them, Garak, and they have to deal with them just like anybody else would.”

Garak was smiling, but his gaze flickered away briefly. “That does sound promising… but how seriously can I take them, really, when they flit from world to world on a space ship?”

 _Aargh!_ “Have you even been _listening_ to me? That doesn’t— _look_ , all right, take you and me, okay?”

Garak’s head was tilted as he listened, smiling; he nodded.

“Okay, so we’re real, right? Our problems matter, right? Would they matter any less if we lived on… oh, I don’t know, a space ship, or a space station, or Mars?”

Garak thought about that for a moment. “I suppose not.”

“What about if we were aliens or something? What about if I had scales all over me, or you had antennae?”

“My goodness, Julian, perhaps you should have told me earlier that you had these kinds of fantasies—”

 _“Stop it,_ you ass,” but he was laughing, and Garak was chuckling too. “Does my point stand?”

Garak opened his hands, admitting defeat—or at least stalemate. “I suppose it does. Sadly, my dear, you completely lack scales, and I seem to have misplaced my antennae.”

“We’ll just have to muddle through as we are, then. Boring old humans. I hope you won’t find me too dull.”

“That’s hard to imagine, my dear,” and Garak sighed to himself, shaking his head. His smile had taken on an odd quality. “Four hundred years, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you really think two people could stay in love for four hundred years, Julian? Let alone stay married?” His eyes were teasing. “Perhaps that idea is even more fantastic than the setting.”

“Don’t be such a cynic, Garak. True love triumphs over all, don’t you know that?”

“I…” And Garak breathed a laugh. “I may have to rethink my position on the issue, Julian.” He looked up at Julian, and something caught within Julian’s chest—

Garak’s voice had been warm, _warm_ , and his eyes were suddenly very bright, and he was right there, next to Julian, and now Julian wasn’t sure—if it felt good, should he go with it? _How do I—_

But that briefly stretched moment snapped back into shape and time flowed on, and now Garak was chuckling to himself, unaware of Julian’s thumping heart. “My goodness, what a lot of thinking you want me to do tonight, my dear. I didn’t expect such lofty discussion from someone with no shirt on.”

 _Hey, not fair—_ an unexpected angle of attack! Suddenly his heart rate seemed rather unimportant. He shot Garak a look. “The dryer cycle will be done soon, all right?”

“Really, not even pyjamas to wear? Very poor planning, Julian.” Garak was laughing at him. It was even more irritating because he was right.

“I got busy. I lost track.”

“Mmm, I see. Do you know, I get rather busy myself, and I have never _once_ forgotten to make certain I had clean clothes to wear.”

“That’s because clothes are all you ever think about.”

“You should be grateful. Thanks to my predilection, _you_ have something to hide yourself in while you wait.”

“Hmph.” Julian didn’t grace that with an answer. “Look, never mind my clothes for a minute. If I give you something good to read, will you read it, even if it’s science fiction?”

Garak’s look was slightly pained. “Will it have aliens in it?”

“It might.”

“I don’t _believe_ in aliens, Julian—”

“I don’t _believe_ in the purity of serving Cardassia above all else, but I’ll still read about it.” He raised his brows, smiling.

Garak ran a hand over his face; blue eyes peered between pale fingers, and his voice was muffled. “I’m going to regret this.”

 _Ha!_ “Best decision you’ve ever made—hold on,” and he was already off the couch, “I’ll just run upstairs and grab you some books—”

“Dressed like that?” There was an undercurrent of laughter in Garak’s voice.

He skidded to a stop, looked down at himself again. “Um…”

“I’m sure my enlightenment can wait twenty minutes, my dear.” Now the laughter was clear, bubbling between the words, and Julian looked back at him, grinning.

“All right, you have a _brief_ reprieve.”

“My gratitude knows no bounds. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a book to read.”

For a few minutes, it was quiet in the apartment. There was no sound but the companionable breathing of two people lost in other worlds, the occasional flickering turn of a page, and the far-off heartbeat of the dryer cycling ‘round and ‘round.

For a few minutes…

“Hey, you never did tell me what was in that casserole.”

“ZabU meat.”

 _“ZabU meat?_ From a _zabU?_ That thing that looks like a giant _toad?”_

“Mmm.”

“I can’t believe—you fed me that?”

“Delicious, isn’t it? We herd them in Cardassia.”

“Oh, my _God_ —”


	4. night settles, still workin' on a way to breathe

_night settles, still workin’ on a way to breathe_  
 _don’t you go, don’t you go down_  
 _take a helium taxi home to me_

* * *

All things considered, he felt remarkably like Alistair Scrooge.

If he wanted to be ridiculous—which, frankly, he rather did, these days—he could draw quite a few parallels. Both he and Scrooge were older men, living quiet, insular lives, and while he flattered himself that he was perhaps more amiable than Scrooge, he certainly didn’t have any more friends.

But one day, a transformation, complete with images of what could be, and an astounding midnight visitation—

He didn’t deserve to be so happy.

“But I just can’t help myself,” and here he was, giggling again, and he threw his arms up and spun himself around in his kitchen, laughing—

Oh, dear Lord, Julian, _Julian_ , his world was Julian, everything was Julian, and he couldn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t _want_ to, it had been _ages_ since he’d felt this good, _I don’t think I can actually recall the last time I felt this_ wonderful.

His skin was tingling, and he closed his eyes and let himself remember last night, and the night before, and the afternoon, and the _morning—_

 _Ah,_ and he knew his smile was absurdly wide, completely at odds with his preferred composed presentation of Completely Perfect Elim Garak, and he could not even remotely bring himself to care.

He flicked a quick glance at the microwave clock. Ten-thirty-five, very well. Julian’s lab should have finished up at ten. The bus across the city left the university at ten-forty, and so it would be another forty-five minutes at least. Really, how funny that _bus schedules_ were now a source of thrumming delight. Still, he remembered Julian’s quiet voice in his bed, last night, sleepy and sated and still already thinking ahead to today’s rendezvous, _oh,_ and his heart fluttered in his chest, untamed and flying free, _calm yourself, Elim!_ Mercies, he really should stop thinking in bad poetry. It seemed to be all he could muster, these days. At least he’d so far kept it from his lips.

He hummed to himself as he tidied his kitchen, arranging everything just so—and now, perhaps, a plateful of snacks for Julian, who’d no doubt be hungry after the lab, he was _always_ hungry, and Garak was fine with that. These days he was rather hungry too…

_Ridiculous!_

Yes, he was, and he _liked_ it that way!

This week he’d drifted through his work, laughing to himself as he stitched and snipped, humming as he displayed a garment, genuinely smiling at the customers, because he was happy to be there, wherever _there_ was, happy to be alive, and that was new, too—

He was suddenly amused, remembering the face of Mr. O’Brien, who’d been shovelling the walkway outside the plaza after the latest ludicrous dump of excessive snow. What a charming expression he’d displayed when he’d seen Garak, inside his shop, waving and smiling through the display window. _Hmm._ The thought brought a smile to his face.

Well, he couldn’t be expected to _resist_ , could he? After the man had nosily caught them in flagrante delicto—more or less—Garak rather thought he was entitled to tweak O’Brien, just a little. And Julian seemed to be having a bit of fun with it, too, what with that doorway conversation; after O’Brien had left, Julian had fallen back into bed, laughing and laughing, half-hysterical with a mixture of delight and relief, and Garak hadn’t been able to suppress his own laughter. They’d howled, clutching each other—

Goodness, the entire week had been variants on the theme of clutching each other—sometimes more literally than not; honestly, the first few times had been a bit of a clumsy fumble with Garak doing his best to teach, not a role he’d ever had to assume in this context. Either he was a very good teacher, however, or Julian was a _very_ quick learner, because last night Julian had told him to lie back, and, smiling, had proceeded to do things to him that Garak hadn’t known needed doing. He stretched, remembering, an electric tingle running through him, oh, _mercies,_ how was the man _real,_ how was this _real?_

All right, here were snacks, and the kitchen was tidy, and the bed was made—a little jolt up his spine, goodness, how silly and wonderful—and what else was there to do? Nothing much, so here he was, vibrating, and it was ten-forty-five, and he was going to have to find something to do because otherwise he was very possibly going to _explode—_

His phone rang.

 _Julian’s ringtone!_ That little bit of mindless music that Julian had taken such delight in selecting, possibly imagining it as torture, never realizing it would become an _anthem_ , and meanwhile he should really stop rhapsodizing and answer, hmm, Elim?

“Hello, my dear!” Foolishly fond and not hiding it, not even trying—

“Hi, Garak,” and Julian’s voice was warm, but there was something else there too, a hint of concern.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Fondness dropped from him, and now he was an avenging angel, out to destroy anyone who would even slightly inconvenience Julian, _stop it, Elim._

“They’ve cancelled the buses! I’m stuck here!”

But—that was _calamitous,_ and not at all foreseen— “What? _Why?”_

“The blizzard, Garak.” Julian’s voice carried frustration. “Have you even looked outside since you got home?”

“I—no, I haven’t, hold on, my dear,” and he was striding through his apartment and clambering on to his bed so that he could peer through the tiny window near the ceiling.

He saw nothing but white, drifted and piled. “I can’t even _see_ outside!”

“Well, that should tell you something. It’s been snowing since seven. It hasn’t stopped!”

As Julian spoke, Garak was already in motion, feet into slippers and heading out his door and up the stairs to the lobby—

“Oh, _no…_ ”

Outside was desolation, and he was aghast. White snow sloped across the lawn. The walkway was covered, the street lights each wore small snowdrifts, the air was thick with horrible little tufts of white. Cars picked their way very carefully down the avenue, moving slowly, headlights shining in vain; nothing could be seen but the swirls of snow that filled the air, and he hissed a few choice words of Kardasi.

Julian’s tone was commiserating. “Yeah…”

“I… ah, let me think—”

“No, look, don’t worry about it, all right? I’m just going to sleep here at the residence—I can crash on Rij’s couch. It certainly won’t be the _first_ time.” A bit of a smile in Julian’s voice, laughter in the background from a few different voices, and Garak was terribly, terribly torn.

_You don’t want to steal him from his friends, do you, Elim?_

_Yes! Yes, I do!_

But how would it look, then? Jealous boyfriend tearing Julian away? Overprotective fool who didn’t trust Julian to know what was best for him? Did it even matter?

 _I want him_ here _, I want—_

 _Elim, what does_ he _want?_

“I… All right, Julian, if that’s what you want to do.” But certainly a little bit of fondness was allowed, given what was now so new between them, warm and vibrant. He dropped his voice low, nearly whispering. “But I will miss you tonight…”

He heard it—the catch of breath, the clear evidence, and he could see Julian’s face before him, the wide eyes, the smile, the slight blush—

And apparently Julian’s friends could see it too, because he heard more laughter, pealing tinnily from the phone.

“Shut up, you guys—look, I’ll miss you too… very much, actually…” His voice was hushed, too, but clearer now; was he cupping the phone with his hand? Hiding what he said from overly enthusiastic ears, perhaps? _How charmingly intimate…_

There were a lot of things he could do with charmingly intimate.

“Ah, Julian… it _is_ a shame, my dear… I had something rather special planned for you when you arrived.” Which was…? _Details, details._

“Uh… is that so?” He could hear it in his voice, Julian was intrigued—

“It is. I was going to—ah, but we probably shouldn’t discuss it when you’re in public, should we?” He let his voice be a clear invitation, _if you ask me I will tell you…_

“Uh…” A moment of silence on the line, very faint conversation in the background, and he could imagine Julian looking around, checking for curious ears.

“Anyway, my dear, if you aren’t going to be able to come back to me tonight, it would be pointless to discuss it. Not very fair to either of us, really.”

“Not… fair?” Was that the faintest tremble in Julian’s voice?

“Oh, not at all—really _,_ it makes me rather frantic to think of what I want to do to you, and you’re all the way across the city… I don’t think _both_ of us should be frantic, do you?” Baiting the hook, and rather amusingly, instead of his customary half-truths and hints, he was not lying. Not even a little. _Frantic is an understatement, actually._

A little laugh, breathy in his ear; Julian must be cupping the phone quite tightly to block out so much other sound. “I… rather like it when both of us are frantic, Elim…”

 _Ah—_ and now his heart quickened in his chest, tables turned—

More honesty? _It’s working so far_ , goodness, he was almost giddy. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, Julian…”

He heard a sigh, and yes, there was definitely a tremble there. “God, me too…”

If one couldn’t stop thinking in poetry, then one might admit that it seemed rather appropriate for honesty to lead to a moment of truth. “Julian… if you could get here, would you?”

_“God, yes—”_

No hesitation. None. _Seize that moment—_

“Take a cab.”

“A cab? Garak, I can’t afford—”

“I’ll pay for it. Call one now.”

“Do you know how expensive it is to take a cab from the University to Denorios Avenue?” Delighted incredulity in Julian’s voice—

“The question you _should_ be asking is, do I _care…?”_ And he let it all out into his voice, the taut vibration of his body, the trembling of his hands, the sweet fluttering of his heart, the electricity surging through him, jolting him every time Julian spoke or looked at him or touched him, _oh, my darling, get here, get here_ now!

“Oh, my God,” and he heard the resonance in Julian’s voice, vibrating on his frequency. “Hold on. Um, you guys?” Julian’s voice was a bit fainter now; he must be speaking to his friends. “Never mind about the couch, I’m going to call a cab—”

And in the background a swell of raucous laughter, a sarcastic comment from someone, followed by a series of mocking _oooh_ ’s, and Garak was grinning, glad no one could see him.

“Oh, stop it,” and there was laughter in Julian’s voice too. Another barbed sentence, words unintelligible, and Julian snorted. “Fuck off, Rij; you wish you were so lucky. Look, all right—” He was talking to Garak again. “I’m going to call a cab right now, okay?”

“Not soon enough, my darling…”

“Oh, _God,_ look, stop it with that voice, all right? Or I’ll never get off the phone—”

“Can’t have that—”

“You’re _damned_ straight, good- _bye_ —”

A click in his ear, and here he was, holding a silent phone to his ear and grinning so hard his _face_ hurt.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass of the microwave oven and started slightly. Oh, dear, was that really what he looked like? Besotted and foolish, with eyes like dinner plates and a smile that was long past insinuating and straight on into obvious.

This was normally where he’d think something acerbic to himself.

Nothing was coming to mind. And really, tonight he was not particularly in the mood to try to think something up. _I suppose I’ll just have to be happy. What a shame._

Um, all right, where had he been? Ah, yes—plate of snacks, well-made bed, tidy apartment, and far too much time to fill. _Read a book? Watch a movie?_

His concentration was not at all what it should be, but he would be valiant, he would try. _Songs will be sung of my fortitude, cyclic poems will be written in my name… and I am being very silly._ It was fun, though. Now, enough of that, time to sit down and be very grown-up and read Classic Literature—with passion sighing through him, _honestly_ , he was breathing out adoration and breathing in desire and this was more bad poetry and he really needed to _stop._

He made it through about twenty pages of Min’s collected poetry, selected in the vain hope that the spare beauty of the pre-Reformation era poet would shake some of the saccharine sweetness from his own brain, before his phone rang again.

 _Don’t tell me there are no cabs…_ “Hello, my dear; is everything all right?”

“Oh, very much so, Garak; I’ve called a cab, and they’ll get here as fast as they can. I’m waiting in the atrium now. But… they said it might be a while, and… um,” and he heard the faint smile in Julian’s voice, the little hint of something possibly a bit outré, “I just thought, since it seems I’ll have some time to kill…”

He ran down, and now it was Garak’s turn to examine the baited hook. _Oh, you delightful creature, what am I going to do with you?_

What else could he do but bite? “Yes, Julian?”

“I thought, perhaps you could tell me a little more of what you’ve planned to do to me tonight…?” There was amusement in his voice, but also desire, rich and warm and still so delightfully new, and Garak caught his breath—

And released it, breathing deliberately, keeping his voice low and smooth, almost a purr, “Why, of course, my darling… Where would you have me start?”

“Oh,” and Julian was laughing, voice low, “you do seem to like to surprise me… why don’t you choose?”

 _Ah,_ a challenge, and so he chose, and chose again, and again, and Julian responded so delightfully, his sighs and little gasps in Garak’s ear so marvellous, very nearly as good as the real thing. He murmured his way through the arrival of the cab, the slammed car door, the slow progress of the cab through the unplowed streets, teasing and hinting and occasionally being very, very obvious—

“Garak, I’m almost there—”

“Dear me, and I haven’t even touched you yet—”

“Oh, you _idiot_ , you know what I mean—”

And yes, how could he not; he was already halfway up the stairs, almost skidding into the lobby; he peered out into the darkness and swirling snow and saw the cab making its way down the street, its headlights a futile stab through the thick air, and he ran out in slippered feet and waited, shivering, hands in pockets and feet rather wet and he didn’t _care,_ here was the cab, here was Julian opening the door and leaping from the back seat and Garak threw money at the driver, met Julian with arms and mouth open, stumbled with him down the stairs and through the door and didn’t even come close to making it to the bedroom—

Later, Julian sighed in his ear, lazy and long. He shivered, smiling against Julian’s neck.

“My God, Elim…”

“Mmm…”

“That was… thank you for that, it was…”

“ _You_ are thanking _me?”_ He was incredulous, laughing a little, and Julian’s own laugh puffed against his skin.

“God, your voice—I didn’t—do you know, I couldn’t catch my breath the whole way back, I just—” And Julian tilted his head back and made a little crowing sound of delight. “Oh, my _God,_ do you have any idea what you were _doing to me?”_

His hands slid over Garak’s back, leaving little trails of warmth in their wake, and Garak found himself arching his spine to get as close to those hands as he could, _ah,_ those long fingers, the rough little scratch of those nails…

“Do you think it might be similar to what you do to me?” Mmm, that got another little squeeze of those hands, and a kiss pressed against his ear. Long legs twined briefly around his own, and _ah_ , really, he could just float right off the couch, he weighed nothing, he was made of air… More bad poetry, and he didn’t care.

Another chuckle, another squeeze.

“What now?”

“Oh, I just… how much did you give the driver?”

“Mmm, eighty dollars… why, too much?” As Julian gasped with laughter—

“Elim, you tipped him about thirty dollars!”

He grinned. “I got the better of the deal, Julian, I promise you.”

A pleased _hmm_ from Julian resonated against his skin, _ah,_ there weren’t words, sometimes, there really weren’t…

For a few more blissful minutes he lay there, resting on Julian’s chest, arms lying loosely next to his torso, drifting, listening to him breathe…

Listening to his stomach rumble, loudly.

He felt Julian freeze in embarrassment, and smiled. “Skipped dinner again?”

“I had class, and then lab…”

“Mmm. You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve already prepared something for you.”

“Oh, Garak, _really?”_

It was delightful to see the change in Julian’s face, to remember and compare types of hunger, and how they looked on those features. _Always lovely, always…_

“Let me get it for you, my dear…” He carefully pushed himself up and swung his legs over to the ground, tugging his blanket down from the back of the couch and wrapping it around himself for warmth.

Off to the kitchen he padded, barefoot and blanket-clad, and he felt rather like a mighty hunter when he brought the plate of treats back to the couch and was rewarded with bright eyes and a happy, toothy smile.

_“Thank you—”_

It was such a pleasure to watch Julian doing something he really enjoyed. Garak sat on the couch and smiled, enraptured, as the plateful of snacks vanished in a matter of minutes; and when Julian leaned back and sighed, content, he was happy too, warmed from the inside out. Such a simple thing to do for someone, such gladness within him…

He looked at Julian’s face, eyes closed, blissful, and couldn’t help but compare once again, and here was more happiness, blooming in him. This was real, it was _real,_ in ways he’d never let himself dream. Here Julian was, naked on his couch, with cookie crumbs all around him, and here he was, watching, loving him—

A frozen moment as he heard himself think it.

_Julian, when did you steal my heart?_

And those eyes opened, wide and lazily pleased, and one long arm reached out to him, stroked along his leg. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me all night?”

“Ah…” He laughed, still shaken at what he’d found inside himself. “I’m not sure I can think of anything better to do.”

“Is that so?” Julian’s head tilted, and he smiled. “Would you be willing to entertain some suggestions?”

Julian leaned over, and that long arm slid around him, those lips whispered in his ear. Suddenly Garak was entirely distracted, questions of emotion put off for later consideration; what mattered was here and now, was with him _here and now—_

It really _was_ a pleasure to watch Julian doing something he really enjoyed, even if at a rather fraught moment he found himself spouting some very, very bad poetry, quite beyond his conscious control…

“Really, Elim…?” And Julian sighed happily against his skin, moving under him. “Tell me more…”

* * *

_it’s a mean town, but we don’t care_  
 _try and steal this? can’t steal happiness_  
 _\--the weepies, “happiness”_


End file.
